


It's Kind of a Happy Ending

by spanglemaker9



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spanglemaker9/pseuds/spanglemaker9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 3.<br/>The foes have all been vanquished and everyone in Storybrooke is settling in to enjoy their happily ever after. Hook and Emma should know nothing's ever that easy for them. Fluff-ish relationship stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Kind of a Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> I needed more Emma/ Hook working out their relationship at the end of Season 3. This is that. :)

The euphoric rush of finally achieving your happily ever after never lasts. There's that moment when the longing is finally satisfied with one perfect kiss, when a new baby fills the void created by an unspeakable loss, when that which was thought forever lost is found. In that moment it seems like the untold joy will never dim. How can the world ever look ordinary again in the face of such bliss?

But the sun always rises the next day. Prosaic concerns make themselves known. People need to eat, they need places to sleep, and something to do every day besides be _happy_.

For a few days, the citizens of Storybrooke wallowed in their bliss. They simply delighted in existence without the threat of imminent destruction hanging over their heads. Mary Margaret and David lost themselves in their new baby. Robin and Marian hid away with Roland and relished in thwarting death. Gold and Belle didn't stir from his apartment over the shop. Regina, the only loser in this latest denouement, retreated to her mansion to lick her wounds and nurse her grudge. That reckoning was still in the offing.

Hook and Emma basked in each other. To Hook's eternal frustration, there were always so many other people around. Mary Margaret and David with Baby Neal, who required an extraordinary amount of attention, and Henry, Leroy, Ruby and Granny... so many people and polite conversations to be endured. Now and then he could pull Emma aside, into an alley or an unused bedroom or a dark closet, and have his way with her. Well, he could have _some_ of his way. Emma kept side-stepping the main event. It was bloody awkward. He still bunked in a room at Granny's alongside Robin's reunited family, Tink, Little John and a bunch of Merry Men, and one or two dwarves always roaming the halls. No privacy there. And she still lived with her parents, her son and her new baby brother. He hadn't snuck around so much with a girl since he'd been a lad of twelve.

Still, they found moments. Long walks that led to deserted corners of the park or down to the pier. Then he could pull her into his arms and kiss her, and touch any part of her not covered up by her clothes until they were both breathless and half-mad with desire. At which point, Emma would untangle his hook from her hair, set her clothes to rights, give him a peck on the cheek and go home. Yes, he was desperate for some change in their circumstances that would allow them to keep going. But he'd experienced enough loss in his life to be happy with what he had for the moment. A year ago, he'd watched her climb into that peculiar yellow automobile and drive away, certain he'd never see her again in his lifetime. So when she walked away now and he knew he'd see her again in the morning, he was nothing but grateful.

Hook was perfectly content to wallow in this new happiness for the foreseeable future, but Emma—this fierce, maddening, beautiful woman he'd tied his future to—was not one to rest idly and simply enjoy anything.

"You need a job," she said to him over breakfast at Granny's.

"I have one," he replied, taking another bite. Pancakes really were the most glorious thing. The Enchanted Forest had nothing on Storybrooke when it came to food.

"I hate to break this to you, but piracy isn't exactly a respectable career choice in this world."

"It wasn't in my old world either," he said with a smirk. "That never stopped me."

"Well, since I'm a law enforcement agent here, I'd be forced to arrest you for it now."

"Right, then. It hardly matters. Can't pirate without a ship."

Emma looked down and fidgeted with her fork. Hook wanted to kick himself. She still felt guilty that he'd given up the Jolly Roger to get to her. He'd have done it a thousand times over but Emma couldn't grasp that just yet.

"And you need some new clothes."

Hook set down his fork. "Pardon? What is wrong with my clothes, exactly?"

"You look like a pirate."

"I _am_ a pirate."

"Not here you're not. Not anymore. Look around you. Everyone has a new life here."

Hook did look around. There was Ruby, wearing something quite outrageous, but still a far cry from her magic red cape. David looked every inch the respected sheriff and new father instead of a heroic king. Mary Margaret looked far from royalty in her rumpled sweater with a soiled burp cloth thrown over her shoulder. And although Emma had looked smashing in her red gown at the ball, he had to admit, her leather jacket and trousers suited her better in this world. Everyone who’d been thrown into Storybrooke with Regina’s first curse had long since made themselves over anew. He was the only one who still looked as if he came from another world.

He sighed. What a man did for love. "All right. I suppose if I'm staying I ought to look as ordinary as the rest of you lot."

Emma smiled. “Eat up. This will take some time.”

He grimaced. She could at least look less gleeful at the prospect of stripping away his carefully crafted image. Love led a man to do brutal things.

 

 

An hour later he was again pondering the lunacy of love as he stood before a mirror in Kristen’s, Storybrooke’s only clothing store. Kristen had once been one of Regina’s ladies in waiting, and now she ran the boutique. She and Emma stood back, eyeing him critically as he stretched and tried to subtly adjust himself in these pants that Emma had called “jeans”. They were stiff and a bit scratchy and they grabbed at a man’s particulars in a most unfortunate manner. At least leather pants _molded_.

“Turn around,” Kristen commanded. He scowled at her, but he did so, wincing as the _jeans_ rubbed in unfamiliar ways across his body. He was just about to call the whole humiliating thing off, strip off these ridiculous trousers and demand his leather breeches back, when he glimpsed Emma’s face behind him in the mirror. Her eyes were on his rear end. And she looked positively _depraved_.

“Maybe a looser cut,” Kristen mused, tapping a finger against her chin.

“No!” Emma nearly shouted. “These are good. They’ll work.”

Hook smirked. He’d endured worse for this woman, and if these _jeans_ made her look at him like that, it was well worth it. “Aye. These will do fine.”

Another hour passed as Emma and Kristen roamed the store, choosing items and throwing them at him only to discard them once he’d gotten them on. He quickly deduced that his opinion was neither needed nor welcomed. That suited him just fine as he didn’t understand these clothes at all. Absolutely nothing was leather. And not a scrap of lace to be seen. This world had a decidedly dull sense of style.

When the ladies had finished with him, he stood before the mirror examining himself. There were the jeans, which were becoming bearable now that he’d worn them for a bit. He also wore a black shirt with buttons down the front. Emma picked the black so he’d feel more like himself, which was all well and good, but without a fine brocade waistcoat, the effect was a bit meager. She’d put a jacket on him which he rather liked. It was nowhere near as dashing as his leather frock coat, but it was dark and long and had a bit of drama to it. She’d stripped off all his jewels but one, a large silver ring he wore on his index finger. That one, which he’d stolen on his first pirating heist, he insisted on keeping. Some of his old swagger still peeked through. He wasn’t completely lost underneath this ordinary façade.

“What do you think?” Emma asked, peering over his shoulder at the mirror.

“This world has absolutely no flare for the dramatic,” he said mournfully.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Do you really hate it?” She bit her bottom lip and her eyebrows furrowed. That question was about more than his new wardrobe. She was really asking if he hated _this_ —this town, this realm, this ordinary new life he’d chosen so he could be with her.

He softened, because the answer was unequivocally ‘no’ . Really, some dull new clothes were a small price to pay. “No. It’s quite all right. It’ll do, lass.”

Emma cocked her head to the side and circled around in front of him. Then she reached up and popped the collar of the jacket, so it stood up just the way his frock coat used to do. He brandished his hook, catching the light with it. And _there_ was Hook, he thought, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Now it will,” she said, smiling. That depraved light was back in her eye. Completely worth it, he decided.

 

 

“Well, this is different,” David said, looking him up and down as he and Emma walked into Granny’s for dinner. He slid into the booth next to Emma, flinching as the _jeans_ settled into place. “You look nearly respectable.”

“He looks _nice_ ,” Mary Margaret said, tapping David on the arm to scold him. “You look very nice,” she said directly to Hook.

“Thank you, but this is all Emma. She seemed to feel I stood out a bit.”

“You did,” Emma and Mary Margaret said in unison.

David cast him a commiserating look. “Just go with it. Trust me.”

“Anything she wants, mate,” Hook said, stretching his arm across the back of the booth behind Emma’s shoulders.

Uncertainty flickered across David’s face for a moment. Hook knew he was not who David and Mary Margaret would have chosen for Emma, despite all they’d gone through together. He’d proved himself, but David never could quite get past the idea of his only daughter with a reprobate pirate whose lengthy reputation preceded him.

“He needed to blend in a little better if he’s going to get a job,” Emma said.

“A job?” Mary Margaret asked, bouncing Neal a bit as he started to fuss.

“Of course,” Emma shrugged. “Life goes on. No call for pirates in the want ads here. He’s going to have to find something to do.”

“I suppose so,” Mary Margaret mused. “Well, what are you interested in?”

“I don’t think a career aptitude test is going to work here, Mom.”

Mary Margaret scowled. “Right.” They all looked at Hook, as if they were desperately trying to solve the problem he presented. He sighed and rolled his eyes. Why must everything be sorted at this very moment? He was quite certain some sort of opportunity would present itself sooner or later. It always had in the past.

David cleared his throat, discomfort all over his face. “Well…you could come to work for me.”

“What?” he said.

“What?” Emma said.

“At the sheriff’s office. I could deputize him.”

“Are you kidding?” Emma snapped.

Hook swiveled to look at her. “You think I can’t do it?”

“I think you’re a career criminal and making you a deputy is a terrible idea.”

“And which of the two of us has done time in prison?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve committed hundreds of acts of piracy and theft!”

He held up a finger in her face. “ _Alleged_ acts of piracy and theft. Never convicted in a court of law. Unlike you.”

Emma shifted and looked away.

“Ha!”

“I’ll admit Hook’s got a checkered past,” David interjected. Emma snorted. “But who better to keep an eye on the criminal activity in Storybrooke? After all, our populace came from the same world he did. They’re more likely to commit crimes he’s familiar with than ones you’re familiar with.”

Emma opened her mouth to protest, then when nothing came, she closed it again. Hook enjoyed the rare pleasure of rendering her speechless. 

“Besides, we’re practically a port town.”

“Excuse me?” Emma said.

“The docks. The boats that come in and out. Someone needs to keep an eye on the waterfront, to prevent smuggling.”

“Smuggling,” Emma said in disbelief. “You think we have a _smuggling_ problem in Storybrooke?”

David shifted uncomfortably. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility. And better to prevent it from the start than try to deal with it after the fact.”

David was valiantly trying to make a place for Hook and he knew it. David knew that Emma was afraid of committing herself, no matter how she felt. And David knew Hook would need more than his own charming self to convince her. He was trying to lend Hook some respectability, and give him a purpose. To make it possible for him to build a life here, and to give Emma a reason to tie hers to his. It was mighty big of the man, especially since Hook knew David still harbored his own reservations where he was concerned. So even though the idea of himself as a lawman made him want to laugh out loud, he wasn’t about to turn away the offer of help.

“Well, I think it’s a smashing idea. I’d be honored to join the, erm… army? Fleet? Regiment? What do you call it here?”

“The team.”

“Ah, yes. The _team_. Sounds wonderful.”

David reached his hand across the table. “Welcome to the team… Killian.”

Hook… _Killian_ … took David’s hand and shook it firmly, feeling Emma’s eyes boring into him the whole time. “Thank you, David. I won’t let you down.”

He meant that for her, too. _I’m staying,_ he promised silently, looking at her. _I won’t leave you. I’ll be the man you need me to be for you, for Henry, for your parents. I can fit in your life. I can belong. I’ll prove it to you._

He was certain. Emma looked less so. But he could be a patient man when the prize was worth it. And this prize was definitely worth it.

 

David and Mary Margaret left early, since Baby Neal needed to be put to bed and Henry was home alone finishing homework. Emma and Hook lingered over beers and then walked slowly back towards the apartment through the quiet, dark streets of Storybrooke. Hook marveled again at the odd way fate worked. Who’d have thought this place, this life, was his destiny?

“What are you thinking?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “Just trying to imagine you as a deputy.”

“I don’t have to wear a uniform, do I? The jeans are bad enough. If we all have to wear matching shirts, I really think I might have to beg off.”

Emma laughed. “No, it’s a pretty casual station. No uniforms. Just a badge.”

“I get a badge?”

“It’s not a toy. This is serious.”

“So am I.”

“Hook… Killian…”

“I am, Emma. You’ll see. I couldn’t be more serious about this. Us.”

She sighed. He stopped and pulled her around to face him. “Stop. Stop looking for all the reasons it can’t work and just accept it when it is working.”

“I’m not sure I know how to do that. I guess I can try.”

“Don’t try.” He slid his hand up under her hair, cupping the back of her neck and bringing her closer. “Just feel. This.” He kissed her mouth, soft and lingering. “And this.” Ducking his head, he kissed her neck, the spot where her pulse beat under her skin. Emma sighed. “Just feel the moment, Swan. The rest will work itself out.” He said this last against her lips, before he kissed her again, this time for real. He nudged her lips open with his tongue and moaned when she let him in. Kissing this woman would be the end of him. And the rest—if they ever got to it—was sure to make him lose his mind.

Emma’s hands slipped under his new jacket, tracing over his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“I like you like this,” she murmured, kissing the edge of his jaw, fingering the buttons.

“You do?”

“Mmm hmmm.” She nipped at his jaw and his head fell back. Her tongue traced a line down his neck. “You look edible.”

The jeans proved difficult in a whole new way as his body responded to her. Bloody hell, the things were tight. It was inhuman. Then her hands slid around to his backside and he was sure he was near death.

“Swan….” he groaned. “Please…”

He pulled her face back to his and kissed her hard. He wrapped his hook into her hair as his hand slid down, tracing her hip and thigh. What he wouldn’t give to have all these bloody clothes out of the way.

“We can’t go home,” she whispered desperately. Of course not. Mary Margaret and David were putting the baby to bed, and Henry was there, too.

“Not Granny’s either,” he said, imagining all the comings and goings there. It was worse than the bloody Jolly Roger for privacy, but unlike his ship, he couldn’t just order everyone away when he had company.

Emma gripped his hair, pressing her body against the length of his. Her breasts… this was torture. “What about my car?” she whispered.

“I can’t even sit up straight in that thing.”

“Maybe Henry’s right,” Emma sighed, sliding her hands back to his shoulders and pulling away.

_Henry?_ “Right about what?”

Emma looked away and put even more space between them. Reluctantly he let her go and tried to discreetly deal with the uncomfortable situation in his jeans.

“He wants to move out of my parents’ place.” Emma began to walk towards the apartment again and Hook had no choice but to fall into step beside her.

“Does he now?” Well, well, well. It seemed he and Henry had a common purpose. He would need to find the boy and have a chat tomorrow. After he reported for duty at his new _job_.

 

 

“Mom!” Henry came barreling into Granny’s and threw himself into the booth across from Emma. He was fifteen minutes late. She’d been trying desperately to control her panic. There was no reason to worry. Henry was a good kid, smart and responsible. All the threats from evil sentient shadows and wicked witches were in the past. He was fine, just a little late.

And as he beamed at her from across the table, that seemed to be the truth. He was just an excited, exuberant boy. Her worries about staying here in Storybrooke with him and giving up on that life they’d almost had in New York ebbed slightly. Henry was happy here.

He slapped a newspaper down on the table and pointed to something he’d circled in pen. “Look at this!”

She bent over and read the ad. It was a house for rent, just outside of downtown Storybrooke. Two bedrooms, two baths. A backyard.

“Mom, it’s perfect for us. I saw it myself.”

“How did you see it?”

Henry paused for a fraction of a second. “I rode over on my bike.”

“Kid, you don’t have a bike.” Henry was an absolutely terrible liar. Considering his parents, she supposed she should be grateful for that.

“I borrowed one from a kid at school. Mom, please, just come look at it. It’s perfect. I promise you.”

Emma never quite knew how to handle these parenting challenges. On one hand, there was clearly more to the story about Henry finding this house than he was sharing. And she supposed, as his mother, she was supposed to bust him for lying. On the other hand, he was practically exploding with enthusiasm, and they had been talking about moving out. It was something they both wanted… for different reasons. Why should she crush his excitement just to prove a point?

She examined the ad again, to buy herself more time. “Okay, next time you want to take a ride outside of town, let me know first, okay?”

“Okay, Mom. But the house…”

“We’ll go look at it tomorrow.”

“Yes!” He raised his hand to high-five her. Maybe she’d passed this latest parental test, at least.

 

 

“Okay, Emma, that’s the last box of stuff from the apartment,” David said as he came back in from the kitchen.

The house had fallen into place with surprising speed and ease. Almost too easy, Emma thought, but she couldn’t figure out what the catch was. So as Killian was always urging her to do, she just went with it, and just two weeks after looking at it, they were moving in.

Henry was right, it was perfect. Small, cozy, and well-kept with wood floors, a fireplace, a huge backyard, and cheap. Henry wanted to get a dog. As much as it shocked her, she kind of liked the idea.

“Thanks for all your help, David.”

“Hey, what are fathers for?”

She laughed awkwardly. She might never get used to David and Mary Margaret’s desperate attempts at parenting her.

Killian came down the stairs. “I’ve gotten Henry’s bed assembled but I’m afraid someone else will have to deal with the sheets.” He waved his hook in the air and she laughed.

“Henry can make his own bed. I suspect he’ll be delighted.”

“Where is he, anyway?” David asked.

Emma cleared her throat. “Um, dinner with Regina tonight. He’ll be back later.”

“Ah, I see.” David didn’t press. The situation was still tense and awkward for everyone, since Regina and Emma were no longer speaking.

Killian crossed to the table and took a drink from the beer he’d left there earlier. Unlike David, he showed no signs of leaving any time soon.

 “Well….I guess I’ll just… go. I should go help Mary Margaret put Neal to bed. She’ll probably be over bright and early tomorrow to help decorate.” David shot a warning look at Killian, who pointedly ignored it.

“I’ll be ready for her,” Emma said.

David left and Emma turned to face Killian. The smile he gave her sent shockwaves down her back and into her toes. He was ridiculous with that smile.

“Thanks for all your help today.”

“No thanks necessary.” _Not,_ Killian thought, _when this situation stands to benefit me as much as it does you._

“Do you want to stay for a bit?” she asked, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “I could order some takeout from Granny’s.”

“Aye, lass. I’d like that.”

He settled in on her new couch, as if he had always belonged there. “Okay. I’ll just… order some food then.”

 

 

Two hours later, the food from Granny’s had been delivered and eaten. Emma and Hook were well into their third… or was it fourth?... beer. Emma was punch-drunk with exhaustion and relief now that the bulk of the move was behind her. Killian had his arm around her shoulders, rubbing his thumb over the bare skin of her upper arm now and then.

“Killian…” she said, pointing at him with her beer bottle.

“Hook,” he corrected gently.

“Hook? David’s been calling you Killian. I thought you wanted—“

“Something more respectable?” He shrugged. “For your father, aye, Killian is fine. For you?” He leaned in and kissed her just in front of her ear, his warm breath ruffling the fine blond hairs there. Emma’s eyes closed. “When I make you scream my name in the heat of passion, I confess, I’d rather hear ‘Hook’.”

“Hook…” Emma breathed out.

“Aye, lass.”

He pulled her face into his and kissed her. The beer had made them both loose and loopy. Emma was unrestrained, forgetting her usual caution. She kissed him back ferociously, tangling her fingers in his hair. He groaned and shifted his arm down around her waist, hauling her up against him. Emma came willingly, slinging a leg over his and settling herself on his lap.

“Yes, Emma,” he sighed before pulling her face down for another kiss. Finally— _finally_ —they were alone and someplace they could recline. He stroked her thigh, encouraging her as she began to move over him. All their clothes were still in the way, but it was a start. Once again, he was straining in his jeans, but it was a feeling he was becoming accustomed to.

Emma groaned, not even caring that she was shamelessly grinding herself on Killian… _Hook_. He didn’t seem to mind and it felt so damned good. Cool air met her skin as he lifted the hem of her shirt. She wondered distantly if it was odd that the feel of his cold, metal hook sliding up her back made her nearly faint with desire. It didn’t matter, she decided, as lust overtook her and she kissed him harder. The hook was just… _him_. The feel of that steel on her skin was just another reminder that he was touching her, he was near. He was hers.

“Yes, lass,” he breathed as he began to move underneath her, too. She felt good, too good, grinding down on him this way. He was in danger of embarrassing himself before he’d ever gotten himself out of these infernal jeans, and that was before her hand reached between them and began to work the metal buttons free of the stiff fabric. If she laid her hand on his bare flesh, he’d be done for. And he didn’t care. He leaned back just enough to watch her fingers working, because when she got her hand inside and took hold of him, he wanted to _see_ it….

“Mom? How’s it going—”

“Henry! Jesus!”

Emma rocketed off his lap, rolling to the side. Killian grabbed at a throw pillow, pulling it into his lap to hide the gap in his trousers. With one clumsy hand, he reached underneath, frantically rebuttoning what Emma had undone.

“Hey, Henry!” Emma called to her son, sounding far too bright and chipper.

Henry rounded the corner into the living room and stopped short, eyeing the two of them trying to unobtrusively put themselves back to rights. Emma’s hair was a mess. So was Hook’s. His collar was twisted. Her shirt was rucked up, still exposing a strip of her stomach. And Hook was still holding a pillow over his groin. No, nothing untoward happening here.

“Hi, Mom….” Henry said slowly.

“We were just finishing up in here and—“

“Yeah,” Henry said quickly, cutting her off. “It’s been a really long day and I’m beat and so I’m just going to go up to bed now, okay?”

Henry was half way up the stairs when Emma remembered to call to him. “I didn’t get a chance to put the sheets on your bed yet.”

“I got it!” Henry called from upstairs. Then his door slammed behind him with finality.

“Bloody hell,” Hook groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. Emma chuckled awkwardly at his side.

“Welcome to parenthood,” she said ruefully.

Killian lowered his hand and looked at her. At the same moment, Emma seemed to realize what she’d said and her eyes went wide.

“I just meant that’s what _I_ deal with as a parent. I didn’t mean that you—“

He reached out for her hands, covering them both with his. “Swan, stop.”

She stopped.

“You don’t need to mean anything. Or you can mean everything. Either way is all right. I won’t hold you to any of it. At least nothing you’ve said when I’ve addled your brains with a proper groping.”

“Oh, you. Stop looking so damned smug.” She threw a pillow at him and he batted it away, laughing. “God, poor Henry. I should go up and talk to him. Who knows what he’s thinking right now.”

Hook decided against telling her that Henry was very likely rooting for him. He didn’t think it would go over well. He couldn’t hold back his smirk, though, and his smirk was always the death of him. Emma certainly didn’t miss it.

“What are you smiling about?”

“I just… I doubt Henry will be upset about this.” He waved his hand between them.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “It was _you_.”

“Me, what?”

“ _You_ found this house! _You_ brought Henry to see it!”

Hook thought about lying. He’d done it plenty in his life and he was quite good at it. But some kind of newly-born instinct told him that was the wrong thing to do where Emma was concerned. She'd know anyway. And she deserved more than the lying rogue who could woo any woman. Because she wasn’t just any woman.

“Aye.”

“You rat!”

She pummeled him with a throw pillow. He raised his hook and the pillow impaled itself, halting her attack. “You said you wanted to move anyway!” he protested. “Henry wanted to move!”

“So you just helped him find the perfect house.”

“Perhaps.”

Emma paused, looking at him with renewed suspicion. “How did you find _this_ house?  I _knew_ it was too perfect.”

Once again, Hook weighed his options. Lying was still looking quite appealing. But that was the Hook of old, always taking the easiest way out of any scrape. Emma wasn’t easy. She never had been and she never would be. He knew that going in and he’d fallen in love with her anyway.

“I asked Gold for help.”

“You asked _The Dark One_ to find me a house?? Are you _crazy_?”

He reached out, grabbing her by the upper arm, mostly to keep her from taking a swing at him, because it was a close thing. “I asked Henry’s _grandfather_ to help with something _Henry_ wanted.”

That seemed to take the fight out of her.

“He knows the man who owns the property. He asked for a favor. No dark magic, Emma. No debt owed. His grandson wanted to live in a proper house with his mother. Gold wanted to help make that happen. Nothing more.”

“Do you swear?”

He sighed and reached up to cradle her face in his palm. “Do you really think, after all we’ve endured together, that I’d subject you to some sort of magical debt without your knowledge?”

“I wasn’t sure—“

“Hear me now, Swan. I only want what’s best for you. I will never knowingly hurt you. I’m truly not sure that I can. I love you that much.”

Had he ever actually said those words? _“I love you”?_ It seemed like he had—a million times. He’d thought it often enough, and shown her plenty of times. But perhaps he’d never properly _said_ it, because Emma was looking suspiciously weepy. Now that he thought about it, he still hadn’t said it properly. He’d sort of buried it in the middle of an explanation. That wouldn’t do.

He curled his fingers around her nape and tugged, pulling her closer, and looked into her eyes, unflinching.

“I love you, Emma. I can’t help it. I can’t stop. I don’t want to. I just…. I want to make you happy. In any way I can. For the rest of my miserable existence.”

Lords, now she really was weepy. Brave, fearless Emma Swan looked on the verge of a proper crying jag. There was a trembling lip and everything. “Killian…” she whispered, and then seemed to have nothing else to say.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Just kiss me.”

She did. Eagerly and with everything she had to give. She still sent him home a few minutes later, paranoid about traumatizing Henry with his presence, but he didn’t mind. He let her push him out the door with a peck on the cheek because he knew he’d be back. He wasn’t going anywhere now.

 

 

Emma had only shooed Mary Margaret out the door thirty minutes earlier when the bell rang again. Certain she must have forgotten something, or maybe sent David to retrieve it, she threw open the door in a rush. Instead it was Killian, leaning in that louche way he had against the doorframe.

He looked like he’d just come from work in those dark denim jeans that made her mouth water and his long field jacket that he’d adopted as ubiquitously as he had his old leather frock coat. His deputy badge was pinned to his coat. That made her mouth water, too.

She had to admit, he was good at his job. Well, it wasn’t as if Storybrooke was a hotbed of criminal activity. But he was on top of whatever was going on. Within days of being sworn in, he’d established connections with every shiftless character and reprobate in town. If something was going down, Killian heard about it before anyone else. Sometimes it seemed you did need a criminal to catch a criminal. David’s instincts hadn’t been wrong on that count.

He also patrolled the waterfront with zeal. David might have been overstating the threat smuggling posed to the town, but that didn’t stop Killian from learning the docks and its denizens inside and out. Sometimes she caught him staring out at the water and suspected he had more than one reason to spend time down there.

But if he missed the sea, he never let on. As impossible as it seemed, he was thoroughly committed to building a normal life here in Storybrooke. She’d found herself starting to count on his daily presence, which was terrifying. More than once, she nearly packed Henry into the Volkswagen and ran back to New York, just to outrun this horrible feeling of dependency. Sometimes the only thing that kept her from doing it was the certain knowledge that he’d just follow her there. And Killian’s obscene charm was deadly enough in Storybrooke. She had no doubt he’d conquer Manhattan and the rest of the world with it if he ever got loose. Best to keep him confined to this small, forgotten corner of Maine where the only devastation he wrought was on her.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, a bit more breathlessly than the situation warranted. She’d never admit it was the sight of him that did it.

“Aye, lass, it’s me.” There was that grin, that decadent charisma. He _knew_ he made her weak in the knees. He knew it and he relished it. He shoved off the doorframe, a casual motion that he somehow turned into a sensual sex act and sauntered inside, stopping to drop a kiss on her cheek. His scruff made her break out in goosebumps.

“I came to see if I could take you and Henry to dinner.”

“Henry’s not here. He’s spending the night at Regina’s.”

Killian stopped in his tracks and pivoted to look at her. “Henry’s gone?”

_Well, well, well,_ Killian thought. This was interesting. In the two weeks Emma had been in the new house, she’d never had a night there alone, until now. He’d managed a few more delightful sessions of kissing and touching on the couch, but they hadn’t gone further than that because Emma was edgy about Henry’s presence in the house.

He knew, though, that Henry was just an excuse. Crossing that line mattered to Emma. Not the act itself, since he knew she’d enjoyed it on a casual level plenty of times in her past. It was the act _with him_ that terrified her. Because there was nothing casual about the two of them.

He hadn’t missed that hunted look of terror that flickered across her face when things got intimate between them. And it wasn’t the physical intimacy that scared her the most. It was the little things—when he brought her coffee at the station, made the way she liked it because he remembered, or when he handed her the mustard as soon as her burger arrived at Granny’s, before she could even ask for it. That look was there when David and Mary Margaret casually included him in family plans now, as if he had a permanent place with them. Or when she came into the room and found Henry confiding something to him, something he’d never share with either of his mothers.

The woman who’d spent her entire life never depending on anyone was beginning to depend on him and it terrified her. Sleeping with him would entangle them on a whole new level, which is why she kept dodging it. He knew that, and he hadn’t pushed her to go any faster. But a man had wants and dammit, the house was empty tonight. He wouldn’t push, but perhaps a little nudge wouldn’t be out of line.

He smiled, letting the lust unfurl through his body. He knew she felt it, too. She’d been just as physically frustrated when their couch sessions ended as he had been. Emma’s expression shifted. Lust warred with wariness.

“Maybe we should go out,” she murmured.

He took a step towards her, and then another. “Or maybe we should stay in.”

“Killian—“

“Hook. You know I like it when you call me that.”

Her eyelids drooped a bit. She knew _when_ he liked her to call him that. “Hook…” she sounded breathless now. He reached out—not with his hand, but with his hook—and snagged the belt loop of her jeans. She glanced down at it and let out a shaky exhale. The steel made her wild. He knew that, too.

Slowly, almost as if her hand was acting on its own, she reached up and traced the curve of the metal. He felt a tremor, like an electric current, race up his arm and radiate out through his body.

“What was that?”

Emma closed her eyes and shook her hand out. “Sorry. It happens sometimes when I’m… distracted. Magic.”

He tugged her a step closer. “Well, that will be a delight to explore at a later date.”

He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She planted her hands on his chest.

“Killian… Hook… I’m not sure—“

“Not sure you can endure my devilish good looks? Not sure if you can withstand my roguish charms?”

“Be serious.”

“I am. I think I’ve been proving how serious I am every single day since I met you, Swan.”

She sighed and her shoulders drooped. “I know. I know you have.”

“Look at me, Swan.” He changed arms, wrapping the hook around her waist so he could bring his hand to her face. “I’m not going anywhere. And I know that terrifies you, but you’ll just have to get used to it. Until you tell me to go, I’m here, at your side.”

She traced his badge with her fingertip. “I don’t want you to go.”

He smiled and ducked his head until his face was just inches from hers. “Then I’ll stay. It’s all right to let yourself want me. I know I’m impossible to resist.” She snorted in laughter and he chuckled, too. Then he spoke again, the teasing gone from his voice. “I mean that, though. You can let yourself want me. _This_. You can fall. I promise I’ll catch you.”

“Silver-tongued devil,” she sighed.

“I don’t know about silver, but it’s bloody talented. Which I mean to show you. At length.”

He kissed her, not an innocent kiss, but still restrained. He wanted her so badly it was about to drive him mad, but he wouldn’t drag her this final step. She needed to reach out for him herself.

And then she did.

Emma reached behind her back and wrapped her hand around his hook.  “Come upstairs.”

Hook was shocked at what came out of his mouth next. “Are you sure?”

Emma looked surprised, too. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. Unless you’re getting cold feet.”

“Trust me, darling, nothing about me is cold right now except the metal bits.”

She stroked her fingers up the hook and back down. “I like that metal bit.” A fragment of residual magic shimmered through him and he shuddered.

“It likes you, too.”

“Come on.” She tugged him by the hook and he followed her up the stairs, down the short hallway and into her room. He’d been in there before, the day he’d helped her move in, but not since then. He’d thought about it plenty, but she’d always kept him contained safely in the living room.

Tonight, it seemed she’d finally abandoned her caution. She led him straight to the bed and then turned, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss that set his whole body on fire. She pushed his jacket back off his shoulders and he had to release her long enough to shake it off, but then he was back wrapping his arms around her, nearly lifting her off the floor with the strength of his embrace.

Her hands immediately went to work on the buttons of his shirt. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Emma, once she gave herself permission to have him, would go at it with zeal. She was a woman who knew how to take what she wanted. And tonight, he was offering her every bit of himself.

As she pushed his shirt open and laid her palms against his bare chest, another zing of power zipped through his body.

“Sorry,” she mumbled against his lips.

“Darling, don’t ever apologize for that. Or anything else that happens between us like this.”

She dispatched his shirt next. She had him stripped to the waist now and maddeningly, all her clothes were still on, so Hook set about remedying that oversight.  He tugged her shirt up over her head, marveling in the sight of her long blonde hair tumbling back down over her arms and back.

“Magnificent,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss the side of her neck, and then lower, all that pale, perfect skin he’d spent countless hours imagining but had never explored. And then there were her breasts.  He’d spent many hours imagining those, too, and his imagination, as vivid as it was, hadn’t done her justice.

His hand slipped down to the back of her thigh, pulling her hips in tight against his. “Swan…” he murmured between kisses. “Emma. I’m nearly mad for you.”

“Me, too,” she said. And then she gripped his shoulders and swung him around, pushing him back until he fell across her bed. She crawled over him on her hands and knees until she could kiss him again.

He should have known she’d take charge of this situation. And while feeling her body pressing down on his from above was delightful, and he was more than happy to submit to her attentions, he was still, at heart, a pirate, and very used to taking what he wanted. So with one agile twist, he flipped them, pinning her underneath him. If the moan she let out was any indicator, Emma didn’t mind being taken.

Hook found himself cursing jeans again when it took far too long to wiggle out of them, first hers and then his. The bloody things were like some sort of modern denim chastity belt. But finally he had her free of them, and free of everything else she had on.

Never in his life had he mourned the loss of his hand more than now, when there was so much of her to touch and he had only one hand to do it with. Well, he had his mouth, too, and he put it to good use, until Emma was writhing underneath him, fisting her hands in his hair. Until she fell apart in his arms and just as he’d dreamed, the name she screamed in ecstasy was “Hook”.

As a pirate, he’d been ruthlessly thorough, never ceasing his plundering until he’d gotten what he came for. His days of marauding on the high seas might be over, but old habits die hard and now Emma was the treasure he sought. And on this night, he finally had her. He’d waited so long for her that he was nearly desperate, but he made sure she was sated, and not just once, before he finally gave in to the desire that was driving him mad.

Finally, he was ready to take his own pleasure. Despite his vast experience, literally hundreds of years of wenching—he suddenly felt like a raw, untried lad. His bloody hand was shaking. Had it ever been like this? Of course it hadn’t. Because it wasn’t the act, it was the woman. It had never been _this_ woman. It had never been Emma. He understood her like he never had before, her caution about taking this step. Nothing would be the same afterward.

Emma wrapped her long limbs around him and he found his place against her, marveling in the supreme bliss of it. Then he was sliding in and all conscious thought fled. Her head fell back and she moaned. He kissed the curve of her throat and then just pressed his lips there, gasping for breath as they came together over and over again.

The pleasure was enough to make him lose his mind, but he held on long enough to bring her to the edge once more. Emma pressed her palms against his back, her nails cutting into his skin slightly, the pain adding a delicious new edge to the pleasure. Then, just as he crested the peak he’d been working towards, that frisson of magic rocketed through his body again. Emma cried out and so did he, a hoarse shout as the world fell apart around them.

 

 

They lay on their sides, facing each other, as he toyed with the ends of her hair and whispered endearments that he’d have mocked mercilessly had he heard any other man utter them. Love truly made a fool of him. Emma traced patterns on his chest with her fingertips, every grazing touch sending tiny shock waves through his body.

She sighed dreamily, sounding every bit like a woman supremely satisfied. Hook felt smug at having rendered her mindless with bliss. He hadn’t lost his touch. “I don’t know why I made us wait so long for that,” she murmured.

“I do. You knew it would change everything. And it has.”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly serious. “It did.”

He slid his hook under her chin and nudged her face up so he could look her in the eye. “No running from me, Swan.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I won’t. But I can’t promise that I won’t get scared and freak out. That’s pretty much what I do.”

“I’m well aware of how you operate. So have your _freak out,_ whatever that is, and when you’re finished, I’ll still be here.”

Her expression was full of wonder. “You really will be, won’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Good gods, woman. I’ve followed you from realm to realm, faced death countless times, given up all my worldly goods, gotten a proper job, and put on _jeans_ and you’re just now sorting that out?”

She chuckled, her voice low and sensual, and it made parts of him stir with interest. “No, I knew it. But now I feel it. And I guess… I guess I believe it.”

He opened his mouth to tell her she should always believe it, because it would always be true, when a flash of otherworldly blue light lit up the night sky and briefly illuminated her dark bedroom.

“What was that?”

Hook scrambled from the bed and looked out the window. He could see it, whatever it was, still glowing over the treeline, perhaps a couple of miles away.

“Is it a fire?” Emma asked.

He shook his head and scowled. No, it was nothing so prosaic as a fire. That eerie illumination had all the hallmarks of a big and ugly kind of magic, the kind he thought they were done with now that they’d settled safely in Storybrooke. Well, they might be done with dark magic, but it looked as if dark magic—and whoever might be wielding it—wasn’t done with them.

He sighed wearily. He didn’t even know what it was yet, but he knew as surely as he knew his own name—both of them—that it would no doubt require an unwanted trip back to The Enchanted Forest or Neverland or some other unpleasant realm he didn’t want to visit. It would probably also involve deadly spells, running for cover, fighting for his life, and great mortal peril. Because didn’t it _always_?

Emma jumped up from the bed, scooping some of her clothes off the floor before joining him at the window. He cast one last glance at her lovely naked body, suspecting it would be the last he’d see of it for some time. Because that’s just how these things tended to work out, he thought grimly. She was already shrugging back into her shirt.

“What the hell is that thing?”

Hook glared at it, the harbinger of the next wearisome adventure in their life. “That, my dear, looks very much like the end of our happily ever after.”

 


End file.
